


Will You Love Me Tomorrow

by profound-boning (farawaystardust)



Series: Will You Love Me Tomorrow [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - No supernatural, Anxiety, Break Up?, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Reconciliation, References to Depression, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 18:11:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14939312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farawaystardust/pseuds/profound-boning
Summary: Getting into bed at three in the afternoon is generally frowned upon.So Dean lies on the couch instead.





	Will You Love Me Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> WOW. So excited to finally share this with y'all! And also incredibly nervous. Writing this story has been a journey and it's a deeply emotional one. I couldn't have done this without the inspiration and support of my incredible artist Aceriee, or my betas 60r3d0m and MistressPandora, or my irl partner of six incredible years, Mr Boning. What you're about to read was created for the [dcrb](http://deancasreversebang.tumblr.com/) and it's very raw and a bit of an emotional roller coaster. Please take the tags for depression and anxiety seriously, as Dean is not really in a good headspace for most of the fic. He's exhausted from fighting with his brain all the time. I can relate, as can so many of you. I love y'all. Without further ado, please enjoy this work and leave your kudos/comments/feedback here or on tumblr! And make sure you properly fawn over Aceriee's AMAZING artwork, as featured here and on tumblr! Enjoy. :)

Getting into bed at three in the afternoon is generally frowned upon.

So Dean lies on the couch instead.

The sunlight in the room is the only indication of time passing. Dean’s long since stopped paying attention to the tiny clock on his phone. He’s using it for more important things—playing games on a couple of different apps, browsing a variety of social media sites, checking his email inbox, rinse and repeat. Nothing can hold his attention for very long. Lengthy pages become too boring, videos are too loud even at the lowest volume, flashing lights and fast gifs make his eyes hurt.

He sighs and re-adjusts his position; his skin is tight and his scalp is itchy. He’s been like this for hours. Maybe he should take a shower? Then his stomach gurgles, and he can't remember the last time he ate. He considers getting up to make something but ultimately decides against it.

It doesn't matter anyway.

Because Cas comes home.

“Hi, babe,” he says, craning his neck to peer up at him. Cas sets his backpack down and looks at Dean cautiously. He looks tense and unhappy.

“Hello, Dean,” he replies. “How are you doing?”

“Peachy,” Dean mutters. “Relaxing.”

Cas shifts his weight a bit. “That’s good.” He hesitates for a second longer, his eyes roaming over Dean curled up on the sofa, before going into the kitchen. Dean bites his lip and stares blankly at his phone. Why is Cas upset? He could be upset with Dean about something, couldn’t he? Something that happened earlier? Maybe Dean was supposed to do something and forgot.

He hears things moving around in the kitchen and doesn’t react, afraid to disturb Cas while he’s busy.

As silence descends, Dean gets antsier. He shifts around on the couch a couple of times but can’t get comfortable for longer than a few minutes.

Eventually, Cas exits the kitchen, holding a bowl of pasta in his hands. Dean moves his legs to make space for him but Cas pauses before coming closer and sitting down. Dean tries not to read into that.

The only noises in their sparse apartment are the sounds of Cas slurping and Dean’s thumb gently pressing against his phone screen. His attention is captivated for only a few minutes before he’s compelled to switch to a new app, a new screen, something. When Cas is finished eating, he carefully places the empty bowl on the table before digging out his laptop. They sit together in the continued silence—they aren’t touching at all, the space between Dean’s toes and Cas’s thigh seems like a mile wide—the enormity of it pressing against Dean’s ears and making his stomach churn.

Cas goes to bed early, as usual, and Dean argues with himself about doing the same for a little while. He listens to Cas brush his teeth and change. Then, he hears a quiet “you coming?”

At hearing the invitation, Dean’s heart flutters a bit. His mouth twists into a smile for the first time all day. He levers himself off the couch to follow Cas into bed. He doesn’t bother with pretense, smushing his nose against Cas’s shoulder as soon as they both lie down. Cas sighs, tired and annoyed, but Dean can’t bring himself to regret it—Cas’s skin is soft and fresh-smelling, and this is the closest thing to home that Dean’s ever felt.

The following day is better. Dean doesn’t feel quite so down on himself, on the world.

There’s still a strange tension lingering in his body as if his chest is just a _touch_ off-center. So, he indulges in some more quiet time before Cas gets home, feeling energized when his boyfriend walks in the door. He’s able to hold a conversation and make eye contact, at the very least.

They eat dinner together side by side on the couch (they seriously need to invest in a proper dining room table and chairs) and talk about the day. Dean even makes Cas laugh at one point, his eyes squeezed shut while he giggles.

Watching Cas smile makes him feel better. Dean tries to bask in the happiness, but for some reason, he feels as if a gust of wind could knock him down at any moment.

“You feeling okay?” Cas asks, ever perceptive. Dean only nods. “It’s just…you seem a little off. Are you feeling anxious about something?”

“No,” Dean mumbles, eyes cast down on his hands in his lap and not on Cas.

He hears Cas exhales through his nose. “Take three deep breaths for me?”

Dean looks up at him, feeling a bit annoyed. Then, he notices Cas’s concerned expression and he relents. If this will make Cas feel better, he’ll do it. Reaching for Cas’s hand, Dean inhales deeply, holds it for a moment, then releases his breath. He repeats this twice more, filling up his lungs both times, in through the nose and out through the mouth.

He blinks up at Cas and privately relishes the small smile at his lips. He’s done something good—he put that smile there.

“Thank you, Dean. Do you feel better?”

“Yeah, that was good,” he admits.

Cas nods to himself. “Okay. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Nah.” What’s the point? Cas has his own shit to worry about without hearing about Dean’s trivial complaints. “Just ready for bed.”

“Let’s go now then,” Cas says easily, his smile wider now. “And we can cuddle.”

Dean lets a tiny smile grow on his face, unashamed at how much he loves snuggling up with Cas. They get ready for bed quickly, elbows brushing in the bathroom before they crawl under the covers.

With Cas on his back, Dean curls himself against his side and halfway onto his chest. Cas reciprocates, bringing both arms around Dean in order to hold him tightly, resting his cheek against the top of Dean’s head. Dean nudges his nose into the side of Cas’s neck and sighs deeply.

“So warm,” Dean says, pressing their bodies together as tightly as he can. Cas chuckles and kisses his hair. The tight, unsettled feeling in Dean’s chest lingers. It says _talk to him,_ it says _love him,_ it says _let him go._

Dean ignores it.

After a few minutes, Cas asks if they can spoon instead. Dean agrees and rolls over, feeling Cas’s arms circle him just a few seconds later. He’s hyper-aware of every place where he and Cas touch—the nudge of their toes, the bend of their knees, the curve of his back against Cas’s chest, the point of Cas’s nose against the top of his spine, and the hot puff of Cas’s breath against his neck. Dean adjusts the arm that’s tucked around his ribcage, curling their fingers together against his sternum.

He relaxes into the mattress and into Cas’s embrace, focusing on his breaths and not on his wandering thoughts. Eventually, Cas kisses his shoulder and moves to roll back onto his side of the bed. With a whispered goodnight, Cas is asleep within minutes.

Dean struggles to follow.

The next day is nearly unbearable. Dean lies on the couch with his heart in his throat and tries not to break down. Cas will know that he’s been crying and he doesn’t want to make this harder on him.

Dean has to leave. He has to be the one to look around them, to acknowledge how unhappy Cas is, how it’s not going to get better, and he needs to let Cas go. As soon as possible. Give Cas the freedom he needs, that he deserves.

He wants to leave right now and spare him the trouble, but Cas doesn’t deserve the confusion or the cowardice of leaving without a goodbye. Plus, he doesn’t know which one of them would move out of this apartment or how the one who stays will pay for it.

When Cas gets home, Dean’s nerves are cranked up two hundred percent. He’s just about to crawl out of his skin when Cas speaks.

“Can you please unload the dishwasher?”

Dean bites his lip and hurries to stand up. “Of course,” he replies, rushing into the kitchen. Cas stands there a moment longer before turning and going into their bedroom. Dean blinks hard to dispel the tears and keeps working until all the dishes are put away.

Cas comes back out in pajama pants and a t-shirt. Dean flushes a bit knowing that he’s still wearing the same boxer briefs and the shirt he’d grabbed off the floor this morning.

“Thank you,” Cas says when the last mug has been put back in the cabinet.

Not trusting himself to speak, Dean nods. Cas’s eyes study his face before he turns to make his dinner.

 _When I leave,_ Dean thinks, _Cas won’t ever have to worry about me forgetting chores again. He’ll never have to deal with my clutter in his kitchen or his closet._

He retreats to the couch and stares at one of his apps, not even seeing the screen. Eventually, Cas wanders over with his plate. Cas puts his earbuds in and starts watching a video. The silence creeps over them like a rolling fog, causing Dean’s stomach to twist itself into knots.

Then, Cas finishes his food, sets his plate, phone, and earbuds on the coffee table, and looks at Dean.

“Can we talk?”

Dean nods slowly. They sit without looking at each other. Dean stares down at his folded hands while he thinks about what he should say. He needs to say something—he needs to explain or to apologize or…

“We can’t continue like this,” Cas says quietly. The words slice through Dean’s gut like a jagged knife. “It’s not healthy.”

“Right,” Dean agrees, his voice a strained whisper. He’s so fucking sad that his throat and tongue are refusing to cooperate.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to discuss this with you so that you won’t feel attacked. That’s the last thing I want.” He sees Cas run his fingers through his hair out of the corner of his eye. “So I’ve been trying to give you the space you needed, let us both breathe for a minute. But I still couldn’t figure out how to begin. This is too complicated for just one little talk though or for me to just…dive in unprepared.”

Dean’s blood rushes loudly through his ears. He feels slightly detached like he’s outside of his body and watching himself sit on the couch and listen to the love of his life describe how _burdensome_ and how _difficult_ it is to be with him. He doesn’t need space— _Cas_ needs space. And if Cas isn’t willing to take that step then maybe Dean needs to take care of that himself.

“I can be out in a day or so,” he says. “I won’t take much with me. Need to call around first and—and find some space for me.”

Cas turns to face him. “You…want to move out?”

He nods, his gut cold and his heart frozen. “Give each other space, like you said.”

“Oh.” Cas leans back against the couch. Dean’s sure he feels relieved, lighter now at the prospect of not having to deal with all of Dean’s _issues_ every minute of every day. “Okay.”

His casual acceptance of this change pierces Dean straight through. Cas is _glad_ to be rid of him.

“Okay,” he repeats. He thinks he should stand now, should walk into their bedroom, pull out his old duffel bag and get started. But he can’t. He can’t move, can’t look at anything other than his hands clenched tightly in his lap. Can’t breathe through the tightness in his chest and the lump in his throat—don’t cry, don’t cry, _don’t cry._

“Dean?” Cas’s voice cracks and it nearly makes Dean weep. “Dean, if you…if you don’t, that is, if…” He trails off. Dean clenches his jaw. Him leaving is what’s best for _Cas._

“I want to.” _Lie._ “It’ll be fine.” _Lie._ “Good, even. We can breathe and figure it out.” _Lie, lie, lie._

“Okay,” Cas says again. He chances a glance up at Cas, who doesn’t _look_ particularly happy but Dean’s not worried about it right now. Cas will feel happy soon enough. He moves to stand but freezes when Cas reaches out to hold his forearm. “Dean, you can’t leave tonight.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s the middle of the night. And you have to work tomorrow. We should be getting to bed right now,” Cas reasons. As if Dean’s going to get any sleep tonight regardless. But he knows that not taking care of himself stresses Cas out, so he ought to listen and try to not fuck up anymore. So he nods and settles back against their couch. It’s lumpy and ugly but it’s theirs; everything in this apartment is pretty much second-hand, used, or just plain old, but Dean loves every inch of it because it’s the things that they share, things that they’ve bought or found and pieced together. Over the years, coming home to their shoddy apartment had become comfortable and safe in a way that home never was for either of them. Their safety was each other.

Dean realizes his mind is drifting a bit and brings himself back to the present moment.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he decides. It’s unnecessary but a nice distraction while Cas figures out how they’ll sleep tonight.

He stands in the spray for a long time, unmoving. After he thinks he’s wasted enough time and water, he steps out and then tiptoes into their bedroom to the closet to grab a clean pair of pajama pants. With his heart in his throat, Dean glances at the bed.

Cas is lying curled up on his side, Dean’s side untucked and inviting. His pillow is still there, so he’ll have to lean over Cas and grab it before he goes out to the couch. His fingers are just brushing the pale blue case when Cas stirs.

“Mm, finally,” he grunts. His long fingers wrap around Dean’s wrist and he freezes. One awkward pause later and Cas’s eyes blink open again. “Would you please get under the covers already? You’re letting the warmth escape.”

Powerless to resist, Dean tucks in close with the blankets up to his chin. Cas settles, then, comfortably drifting back to sleep.

Dean lies awake for a while after that. The moonlight that sneaks through their blinds highlights Cas’s face beautifully, illuminating stunning cheekbones and full lips and the cute divot of his chin. He’s so beautiful that it’s difficult to look at him. It makes Dean’s ribs feel like iron bars around his tender lungs. His heart thuds painfully against his chest, the noise catastrophic in their otherwise silent bedroom.

It will all be over tomorrow, and he’s going to miss this; he’s going to miss Castiel forever. And he’ll never forget any of the time they’ve spent together, no matter how much it hurts.

After lying awake for hours, Dean sleeps like the dead until past noon. He feels groggy, his eyes crusty, and his mouth dry.

Knowing that Cas is unhappy, that Cas probably hates him, it’s both draining and motivating all at once.

He’s packed his duffel with clothes. A toothbrush. A package of crackers he’d found on the kitchen counter. He’s not really sure what his situation will be but he knows it won’t be comfortable. Nothing will ever be the same after today.

Dean is just adding his deodorant to the bag when Cas walks in the door. There’s a moment where they just _look_ at each other. The air is tense and silent until Cas inhales shakily.

“Oh,” Cas says. Dean breaks eye contact to look down at his feet, at his bag, and back at Cas. “Right.”

Cas crosses the apartment and goes into their bedroom. Dean tries to breathe around the tightness in his chest without success. When Cas returns to the living room dressed in sweats, he lingers by the wall and looks very pale, his hair sticking up in all directions. He watches Dean put his shoes into the bag.

“Where will you stay?” he asks quietly, then he winces. “I mean… You don’t have to tell me. I just…I was wondering.” Dean only shrugs. He’d never gotten around to calling. Not like he has a list of friends to talk to about this. Cas frowns slightly. “Well, um…when do you think we can talk?”

He turns to look at Cas, surprised. “What?”

Cas bites his lip nervously. “I just meant, how long of a break do you need before we can talk about this?” Dean doesn’t answer and feels even more confused to see tears well up in Cas’s eyes. “I…I was hoping it wouldn’t be too long, but maybe I’m wrong about that? Do you…need a few days? Or longer?”

“Cas, I wasn’t gonna come back.” Dean’s voice wavers and his heart clenches. Cas brings a hand to his mouth as the tears spill over his cheeks.

“You… What? I… Dean, _please_ don’t say that. I want to give you space but I—”

“Well, I _don’t_ want you to give me space,” Dean interrupts. He can tell his own tears are lingering below the surface and ready to choke him but he needs to get this out. “That’s the last thing I want with you.”

Cas looks at him, lip trembling. “I don’t understand.”

Dean gestures helplessly between them, overwhelmed and exhausted. “This is hard for you. It’s too much. _I’m_ too much and I need you but I have to stop dragging you down. I have to go, right now, and hope that it will make you happy again.

Cas’s brow pinches in his frustration. “Are you…are you trying to _break up with me_ because you think I’m unhappy and you think that you need to do this to make me happy?”

Dean huffs. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

“Fine.” Cas lifts his chin, dignified despite his blotchy red skin. He walks up to Dean, bringing them toe to toe. His eyes bore into Dean’s for a few seconds until he abruptly stoops to grab Dean’s duffel bag.

“Hey!”

“You won’t be needing this.”

“But—”

 _“No,”_ Cas cuts him off sharply. “I don’t want this, and you don’t want it either.” He carries it into the bedroom and Dean follows helplessly.

“Cas, I’m a mess. I don’t…” Dean’s embarrassed to find his own face hot, his eyes wet with tears. “I _can’t_ do this to you anymore.”

Cas steps up to him again, this time all tenderness and no confrontation. “The only thing you are _doing to me_ is completing my life. Supporting and encouraging me. Inspiring me.” Cas takes his hand and his lips twitch in a hint of a smile. Dean’s tears continue to fall. “The only thing I want you to _stop_ doing, Dean Winchester, is doubting yourself. Putting yourself down.”

Dean breaks their eye contact to look at the floor. His mind is buzzing as he struggles to breathe and to listen to Cas’s words. Cas… _doesn’t_ want him to leave?

“Of course not,” Cas says—he must have accidentally said that last part out loud, then. _“Of course_ I don’t want you to leave. I can see now that giving each other space was not the right approach here.” He runs a soothing hand up Dean’s arm. “What can we do together right now to help you feel better?” Dean’s eyes flicker to their bed before he can stop himself and he quickly looks away. He can’t ask Cas to lie down with him.

But Cas displays some impressive mind-reading skill and tugs Dean by the hand to their little nest of pillows and blankets. He pulls the blankets back before kicking off his pants, and then he plucks at Dean’s shirt.

“Get comfy,” he says, “because I’m planning to hold you for a long time.”

Still sniffling, Dean strips to the waist and rolls into Cas’s arms without argument. And he cries.

He cries for the days he’s spent convinced that Cas hated him. He cries for the hours he’s lost sleep due to the pain and the confusion in his heart. He cries for all the tiny moments lost between them because he was so caught up in his own shit.

And Cas is there, calming and gentle as ever. He runs careful fingers through Dean’s hair and he presses soft kisses to his temples and shoulders and any part of him he can reach. They don’t speak for a long time.

“I need you just as much as you need me,” Cas says after Dean has calmed a bit. His chest no longer heaving with sobs. “We’re a _team_ and we are in this together. We need each other and we love each other. Right, baby?”

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs, his lips pressed to Cas’s collarbone.

“To be honest, I do think that you need someone other than me to talk to,” Cas continues. “We don’t need to talk about this in detail right now but I do want us both to consider seeing a counselor or someone else who’s a professional, you know? I love you but I’m not a doctor.”

Dean shifts, uncomfortable at the idea of someone poking around inside his head. Cas sounds into it, though. Maybe he should at least consider it.

When he says as much, Cas tilts his chin up in order to kiss his lips. “Let’s talk about it later, okay? I just wanted to mention it.”

Dean nods, burrowing into Cas’s arms gratefully. He feels drained but strangely _good,_ like the tears acted as a cleanse for some of the pain and the hurt inside of himself. And tomorrow, Cas will still be here.

“Will you love me tomorrow?” he asks.

Cas doesn’t hesitate to say “yes, and every day after that, too.”

His heart settles down; the tension that had been lodged inside his chest loosens with every moment they are wrapped up in each other.

Morning light fills the kitchen with a warm glow. Dean is loath to disrupt the calm that’s settled over them, such as it is. Just breathing the same air as Cas right now is a lot for him to handle. He’s vulnerable, still a little sad, but so damn hopeful.

Last night had taken everything out of him. He’d laid himself bare and Cas never flinched, never mocked, only loved and loved and _loved._

Cas is so _good,_ his heart so golden and strong. When Dean feels weak, he can lean on Cas. It’s all he’s ever really wanted, to know that if he stumbled, someone would be there to catch him.

The soft robe around his shoulders hangs loose, sleeves falling up to his elbows as he holds up his mug.

It smells good, this tea. Cas promised him both caffeine and a yummy taste. He’d mixed in a tiny sugar cube (who even buys sugar that’s literally in cubes anymore?) and a splash of that almond milk he likes so much. And Dean loves him so much that he won’t complain at all.

Dean loves Cas, and Cas loves him back.

He knows it like he knows the purr of Baby’s engine, like he knows that grass is green and the sky is blue, that the sun will set tonight and rise again tomorrow.

 _“Will you love me tomorrow?”_ he’d said last night.

He’d been worried for nothing.

Dean takes a sip of Cas’s tea, his eyes watching Cas lean against the kitchen counter.

“Don’t have to stand all the way over there, you know,” Dean says gently.

The side of Cas’s mouth quirks up. He crosses the room to sit on the bench, their legs pressed together. Cas brings one hand up to smooth Dean’s hair, the touch tender and safe. Dean reciprocates when Cas leans in closer, brushing their noses together carefully. It makes them both smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. Cas’s blue sweater enhances his irises, making their color shine, and Dean’s pretty sure those plaid pajama bottoms used to be his. But he doesn’t care. He’ll gladly share all of his possessions with Cas.

After all, if Cas is this good at taking care of Dean’s heart, he’d be crazy not to trust him with everything else.

So he does.

**Author's Note:**

> [masterpost on tumblr](http://profound-boning.tumblr.com/post/174919846354/)


End file.
